


Yours In All The Ways

by Anonymous



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Sex, Safeword Use, Sub Crowley, Threesome (briefly), dom aziraphale, happy end, kink negotiation (briefly), slight angst, slight dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 12:38:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20436170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Crowley is reluctant to use his safeword.





	Yours In All The Ways

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for a prompt on the Tadfield Advertiser Good Omens kinkmeme.

"Good. You're such a good boy, aren't you?"

The angel's voice was a languid purr, one that sluiced down Crowley's arched back like water, smooth and cool. He moaned, but over the rushing in his own ears, he could barely hear it. Or it might have been the angel's cock down his throat that muffled the sound.

From the very exclusive, tasteful club below them, a heavy bass vibrated through the floor. Crowley could feel it against his fingertips, the way the hairs of the Persian rug trembled.

He had been kneeling like this before Aziraphale for what felt like ages, blindfolded, pleasuring him with his lips and tongue while the deft fingers of a man he didn't know worked him open, pushing and circling and diving in. He was avoiding Crowley's prostate, but with the way he was rubbing at the demon's rim and the angel's taste all over his mouth, that was really just a formality.

Crowley's cock hung heavy and full beneath him, flushed red and hard enough to pound granite. Wetness gathered at the tip from time to time, when the pleasure got too much, and then Crowley had to stop and draw back and catch his breath because he wasn't allowed to come. Aziraphale hadn't explicitly forbidden it, but they'd done this often enough that the demon knew the rules.

Not that he usually gave much about them, with other partners. Which was often why other partners handed him back after one session – no one liked a bratty sub.

Not so Aziraphale. He delighted in Crowley's wit and laughed, usually, at his comebacks. And he knew how to handle his disobedience. Angels were supposed to be forgiving and all that, but when it came to punishment, Aziraphale was anything but merciful.

Crowley never felt more chastised than when he was crying at the angel's feet, kissing his toes in a silent plea for forgiveness. But he never felt more safe either, and thankfully, that feeling wasn't limited to pain.

Aziraphale _knew_ him. His mind, his body and all his desires, in a way that Crowley scarcely knew himself. Even better: Aziraphale _anticipated_ him.

In his hands, Crowley could let himself fall, and while it was still scary, he knew that this time, there'd be an angel there to catch him, and that made it okay.

Like now, when he felt the stranger's fourth finger push into him roughly: a long, burning stretch.

Instead of commenting on his strangled noise – not that Crowley could make any other kind with Aziraphale's girth pressing down on his tongue – the angel pushed his fingers through Crowley's hair, scritching lightly at his scalp, just the way that made the demon go weak in the knees. It was a distraction and a reward in one, for taking it without complaint; for being a good boy.

Warmth spread through Crowley. He wanted to be good for Aziraphale. He wanted it so much he choked on it some days, like when he tried saying Her name.

He rubbed his cheek against the angel's thick thigh in returned affection and felt him shudder above him. The hand in his hair gripped harder, pulling him back.

Reluctantly, Crowley released Aziraphale's cock until it rested just barely against his lips. But he couldn't resist flicking his tongue against the tip. Twice. Because he tasted just that good.

Aziraphale tapped his cheek in warning. "Behave yourself."

Crowley made a sound of protest, because he didn't trust his voice not to come out all hoarse and scratchy. The angel wasn't small, after all. But he scooted back another half an inch, inadvertendly backing himself onto the stranger's fingers even more.

The hand on his cheek turned into a caress. "Good boy."

Crowley shivered.

Aziraphale leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. "How about we move on to the show now, dearest?"

It wasn't a question. Crowley knew because he wasn't allowed to make that decision, or even to protest, so Aziraphale was probably only saying it to make him feel included. To stir up anticipation. It was working.

The man behind him obviously felt the same way. He removed his fingers, giving Crowley's rump a brief swat before stepping away.

"Thank you, my dear," Aziraphale said, aimed over Crowley's head. "Lead him over to the bed, would you? I'm quite comfortable to watch from here."

The man must have acquiesced – he wasn't allowed to speak, they'd agreed upon that beforehand – because Crowley felt a touch at his shoulder that wasn't Aziraphale's, tugging him away.

"A-angel," Crowley gasped.

"Hush," said Aziraphale. "Get to the bed."

Unable to do anything but obey, Crowley jumped to his feet. Only to immediately have his knees give out under him. He fell forward, flailing uncoordinatedly, right into the stranger's arms.

"S-sorry," he muttered, feeling it, for once. He looked down even though he couldn't see anything.

The stranger patted his back and led him across the room to the massive, four poster bed with the purple sheets. Upon urging, Crowley climbed onto it on all fours, flinching a little at the feeling of the cold cotton against his overheated skin.

Strange hands adjusted his position – a tug on his hip here, a nudge against a shoulder there – until Aziraphale gave his silent okay somewhere behind him. Beside him?

Crowley really couldn't tell. He only knew that even though it had only been a few minutes, he could feel the absence of the angel's hands on him like flames. An icy, frozen burn.

He bit his lip and bore it. It wasn't like he wasn't being touched, after all.

Moreover, this thing – the club, the stranger and the show just for Aziraphale – had been his idea. He couldn't back out halfway through just because he was a little uncomfortable that Aziraphale wasn't holding his hand any more. He was better than this. He had to be _good_.

The stranger moved behind him, making himself known with little touches along Crowley's legs. There was the squelch of a pump bottle – more lube – and then the cold drip of it along the crack of his arse.

Crowley bit down on a whine, shifting restlessly. The fingers that prodded at his hole, double-checking, felt rough despite the abundance of slick.

He craned his neck to look over his shoulder, although why, he couldn't tell. He was still blindfolded. "More. Use more."

The stranger hesitated, but then he did as told. He probably had to check with Aziraphale first.

Crowley shuddered. He wasn't sure what he would have done if the angel had said no. If he'd wanted it to burn.

The demon hung his head, taking the repeat examination. It still felt too rough, but now there was definitely enough lube, so he couldn't postpone it any further.

He tensed. Was that what he'd been doing? Had... had Aziraphale noticed? Would he be punished for it later?

Alarmed, Crowley turned his head to where he guessed the angel was sitting, but no words came forth.

Instead, he felt the stranger withdraw his fingers and shift his grip to the demon's hips, lining himself up.

He couldn't even pretend those were the angel's hands. Crowley felt a wave of nausea. He was so cold.

This wasn't, at all, how he'd expected this to feel. He'd expected to be excited, to feel flashy; draped over a cushion or two with all of him on display for the angel. It was supposed to be a show, and one that Aziraphale was supposed to remember for a long time to come. Especially when he was all alone on some mission or other and in the mood for a little bit of solitary comfort. _That_ thought alone, of Aziraphale pleasuring himself to the memory of Crowley getting fucked hard by a stranger, had the demon aching in his pants in the days leading up to this.

Now he was almost there, and it wasn't so nice any more.

He clenched his fingers into the sheets, trying, desperately, to be ready. A word flashed through his head. He pushed it away. He was here now, he would see it through to the end.

The stranger's grip changed from holding to guiding, and something blunt nudged the demon's softened hole. He was so open it didn't take more than a gentle push for the stranger's cock to slide into him, stretching him wide.

Crowley gasped and tried, instinctively, to jerk away before he got himself under control again and forced his body into stillness. The man's cock wasn't even that big – he'd checked before, it had been one of his conditions – and he was a demon, for fuck's sake. He should be able to take it without feeling like someone had punched the breath out of him.

"That's it," Aziraphale crooned. "Good boy."

Just hearing his voice again made everything instantly better. Crowley latched onto the words like a lifeline, allowing them to sink into him, to relax him.

The stranger bottomed out and it didn't feel like a kick to solar plexus. Crowley let out a shaky exhale.

"How does it feel, my dear?" Aziraphale asked.

"G-good," Crowley lied.

"I'm happy to hear it."

He sounded completely unaffected, that blasted angel. Crowley was having a hard time fighting down the shivers that ran over his body.

The stranger stroked one hand up his back, then the other, and gently rocked his hips. It was a test – they'd agreed that he'd be a lot rougher when the show really got going.

Crowley refused to think about it. He'd just... focus on the moment. On breathing. He could get through this.

Another thrust, this time harsher. His hand slipped out from under him and he nearly face-planted into the mattress. "Oh," he gasped, more out of surprise, and quickly turned the sound into a moan.

"How do you like that, dear boy?"

Aziraphale's voice wasn't coming from quite where Crowley had expected it. No matter.

He gathered all his determination and rocked back onto the next thrust, taking the stranger's cock deeper than he'd ever been before. It was heavy, slick, and very uncomfortable. Like he was touching something he really shouldn't have. 

When he pulled out, he brushed Crowley's prostate, and the demon couldn't help but whimper into the sudden spark of pleasure. His toes curled.

"I'll take that as affirmation," Aziraphale said on a chuckle.

The stranger did it again and this time Crowley knew to expect it, to ride it out. It felt... acceptable. Physically. It didn't hurt. He realized, somewhere in the part of his brain that didn't get a vote on this, that that was probably a very low bar to set.

"Try holding him down a little," Aziraphale said. "He likes that. It makes him go all moan-y."

Ere Crowley had time to protest – what for, anyway, since he really did enjoy it, just maybe not right here, right now, with a man that wasn't Aziraphale – he felt an arm settle heavily across his shoulder blades. On his next thrust, the stranger applied pressure, leaning onto him.

With the way his arms were already trembling, Crowley really didn't stand a chance. His elbows gave up on him and his face hit the mattress, arching his back and thrusting his arse out to welcome the hard entry of that thick cock.

The demon cried out, muffled by the pillow. It warmed quickly from his breath, growing wet. He tried to pull away, give himself some space, but the man atop him was too heavy. He couldn't move. He couldn't _breathe_.

Tears were gathering at the corners of his eyes. He'd never been more glad for the blindfold.

"Crowley?", the angel asked. His voice had shifted from carefully neutral to... still carefully neutral, but with an edge.

Crowley instantly panicked.

"Do you need to tap out?"

The demon shook his head. He still couldn't get enough air to reply, so rubbing his sweaty face into the cotton would have to be enough.

Aziraphale was silent for a moment. Then, "Aardvark."

Crowley went very, very still.

"Aardvark," repeated Aziraphale, louder. "This has gone on for long enough."

The man inside Crowley, who'd slowed at the angel's first question, carefully withdrew. The bed dipped when he slid to the edge and off.

Crowley sat up. "I'm-," he broke off, coughing. He really was hoarse. "I'm fine, angel. We can continue."

"We're not continuing." Aziraphale's voice booked no argument.

"But-"

"Thank you for your help, sir. I'll take it from here. Unless you, too, require my care?"

The stranger – allowed to speak again, since their game was apparently over – reassured him that that wouldn't be necessary, and then Crowley heard the door shut.

Relief rushed through him. He crossed his arms in front of his chest, trying not to shiver too hard. "That was completely unnecessary," he declared into the darkness. "I was fine. I _am_fine."

A fingertip brushed his forehead and Crowley flinched. He immediately hated himself for it. This was Aziraphale. He was _not_ supposed to flinch from _Aziraphale_. "S-sorry," he bit out, scooting away from the edge of the bed to bring some distance between them. He wrapped his arms around himself. "I... I think I'm... hormones. And all that."

He was so cold.

Well, he'd just have to deal with it. He certainly didn't deserve any of the angel's kindness.

"Crowley," Aziraphale said gently. "Can I touch you?"

He didn't deserve it. But if that was what the angel wanted, it was the least he could do after failing him so spectacularly.

"If... if that's what you want."

Crowley braced himself and managed to hold completely still when Aziraphale's hand settled on his arm. Heat flared on his skin, star-like. He wanted nothing more than to curl into it, wrap himself around Aziraphale and press his nose to the angel's throat, where his scent was strongest. But he didn't dare move. He'd _failed_. He didn't deserve any gentleness.

"Do you... would you mind if I held you?"

Oh, god.

A sob tore from Crowley's throat. He flung himself at his angel. Even if he couldn't see, he knew exactly where he was – he was always aware of Aziraphale. He dug his fingers into the front of his shirt and pressed his body to the angel's, unable to stop the tears from overflowing.

"Aziraphale." His breath hitched. "Angel."

The angel's arms came around him, drawing him close. "Shhh. I'm right here."

"It was- it- it-"

"It's alright." Aziraphale stroked his hair. "I'm right here, I'm not leaving, and it's going to be alright."

No, no, he didn't get it. Crowley yanked at his shirt, his confused brain convinced that that would get the angel's attention. "I'm sorry. I didn't- for you-"

"You don't need to apologize to me," Aziraphale murmured.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm _sorry_."

He was babbling. But he couldn't stop it.

Soft lips pressed a kiss to his temple. "_I'm_ the one who is sorry."

Crowley blinked. "Uhh?"

"I should have seen it earlier." Aziraphale's arms tightened around him. "I should have _acted_ earlier and I shouldn't have put you in that situation in the first place. I apologize, my dear, darling boy."

He shifted, and Crowley followed because he'd do so to the end of time and longer, until they were lying side by side on the bed. Then Aziraphale gently hooked a leg over him, settling just enough of his weight onto him to feel like an anchor.

The swirl of emotions in Crowley's chest immediately slowed. Like a spell. He felt too wrung out to hold on, so he drifted, surrounded by the angel's warmth and his homey smell; old books, Earl Grey and a hint of oncoming rain. Time moved away from him for a little while, drowned out by Aziraphale's tender touches and softer kisses, until his heart had found back to its baseline beat and a heavy lassitude settled into his limbs.

"There," Aziraphale mumbled, content. "Isn't that better?"

Crowley hummed in agreement, even though he'd already forgotten the question.

"Would you like me to remove the blindfold?"

Crowley shook his head. He could have done it himself. Right now, he felt sleepy, and the darkness was a great help with that.

Aziraphale chuckled. "Alright. Take your time. We have plenty."

His hand left Crowley's face for a moment, only to return a second later. "Open your mouth for me."

Crowley parted his lips and sweetness seeped into his mouth. Sweetness in cube-form. From Belgium, like all of his favorite chocolates. He took the piece between his teeth and flicked his tongue against it, before cracking it in half in one bite.

Aziraphale kissed the corner of his mouth. "Do you feel up to telling me what happened back there?"

Not really. But there was no way around it – they'd agreed. Only this time, there wasn't anything to correct, or do differently. He just... Crowley swallowed. "I didn't want to disappoint you," he admitted in a small voice.

"Oh, my dear." Aziraphale nuzzled his neck. "You could never disappoint me."

"But this was my idea. You... you were supposed to love it."

"I did, but dear boy, I need you to understand something."

Crowley tensed, but Aziraphale wasn't pulling away. If anything, he was moving closer, reassuring him with his body that things would be all right between them. That he wasn't angry.

"I need you to understand," Aziraphale continued, "that no matter how much I like a certain act, whenever we are like this, it is _your_ enjoyment that comes first. And I need you to tell me if you're not enjoying what we do together, because seeing you hurt, physically or otherwise... I cannot bear it. I just can't, Crowley."

His arms tightened around the demon's shoulders, squeezing him.

Crowley reached up, shoving the blindfold off his face with shaking fingers. "Angel?"

Aziraphale's blue, blue eyes found his, glinting suspiciously. "Right here, dear boy. Always."

Dizzy with relief, Crowley surged up to kiss him.

"Promise me," Aziraphale gasped into his mouth. "Promise me to tell me next time, before- before."

Crowley rested his forehead against the angel's. Trusting. _Safe_. "I promise."


End file.
